


where the limbs attach

by FeoplePeel



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), The Isle of the Lost Series - Melissa de la Cruz
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Family Secrets, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gil POV, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romantic Friendship, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: Gil and Harry were limbs on Uma’s crossbow, the place from which her arrows loosed. Gil pictured her a riser, where the limbs attached.A story about illegal Underworld racing, the piecing together of pirated maps, and growing up on the way to a land where no one does.





	1. shell game

**Author's Note:**

> Gil's not sure this new plan is going to work any better than the last; not sure he even understands it. But Uma's determined, and Harry would follow her into Hell. So, with the sort of trepidation his father would shame him for, he guesses that's where they're going.

The crew of the _Lost Revenge_ found Uma brooding on the shoals of the Strait of Ursula. _Plotting_ , Harry had said, shooing the rest of them away until it was only Gil and the two of them left.

Brooding.

Harry had filled his time, since then, repairing the ship, and the crew was more than happy to lend a hand. What is a pirate crew, after all, without a functioning ship, Bonny argued. Uma was quieter; still plotting, Gil supposed. She never went back to the chip shop, and her mother never called for her, so on the nights his father didn’t need him at _Duels Without Rules_ he stayed too.

He heard the floorboards outside his room creak closer to dawn than dusk and curiosity won out. Uma was leaning on the railing of the deck when Gil found her. He was taught to hunt before he could speak, was quiet enough to sneak up on her if the little hitch in her shoulders was anything to go by.

“Gil,” she said on an exasperated breath.

“Aren’t you sleepy?”

“I came out here to think,” she leaned back from the railing to give him a pointed look, “ _not_ talk.”

Gil joined her, counting the space between his slow breaths and her uneven ones that matched the waves lapping against the side of the ship. He counted until, finally, she slouched into something familiar and relaxed.

“Did you really like him?” Gil rested his chin on his hand. Uma didn’t tense up, just cast an annoyed glance in his direction like she’d been expecting him to break their unspoken contract. “Ben?”

“Don’t be stupid.” She fingered the shell at the base of her neck. Eventually her other hand came to join it and she stared down, near cross-eyed. “I wish he were...as bad as I thought.”

“Yeah, he seemed like an all right guy.” Gil smiled and she, predictably, rolled her eyes.

“His dad killed your dad, you know,” Uma said, flatly, hands dropping back to the railing. “He might disagree.”

“Why? Ben didn’t kill him.” Gil shrugged a little at that. “Besides, my dad doesn’t _really_ like anybody but himself so it’s a low bar.” 

Uma’s lips twitched up for a brief flash, long enough for Gil to catch it in the moonlight. Then her expression pulled taut again. “I don’t know what I think about Ben, about all of them. I don’t know what I’m going to do next.”

“You’ll figure it out.” He nudged her, possibly a little too hard as she had to right herself with a grunt. “You’re Uma.”

“Yeah, I am,” she chuckled, leaning fully against the railing. “What about you? I've noticed a distinct lack of you putting your foot in your mouth lately.”

“What?”

“You've been quiet.”

“Oh...Harry kissed me.” He felt his own eyebrows draw inwards at having finally said as much out loud.

“Seriously?” Uma looked more annoyed than shocked.

“He was really happy about the Cotillion,” Gil said because he couldn’t say ‘your victory’ anymore.

“And he likes your muscles,” Uma added, almost flippant.

“ _I_ like my muscles.” Gil pulled back a sleeve to examine a toned bicep. “I don't go around kissing them.” 

“Sure you do. All the time.” She wrapped her hands around the offered limb and used it to pull herself up and sit on the rail in a practiced swing. “Still, he was thoughtless. He needs to rein in that excitement.” 

Excitement, Gil chewed on the word like a tangible thing. _Excitement_ , that’s all it had been. In truth, Gil had been floored, and it was something he had avoided talking about with Harry himself. It had been done seemingly on a whim, and Harry had kissed _plenty_ of people (or had claimed as much to Gil). They were friends, like Uma and he. And with the captain back now, and everyone relatively safe, Harry’s attention was largely on her.

“Gil?” Uma ribbed him, calling his name like it must not have been the first time. “Don’t let him push you around. That’s my job.”

“Uma, you _tell_ him to push me around.”

She stared at him, bemused. “That’s what I said.”

* * *

The streets of the Isle were as filthy as always and cornered with sharp metal. Gil kicked up dust and the smell of trash with every step, avoided bumping the shoulder of a passing stranger in case they took what little pocket money he had. Still, he felt like the whole island had been scrubbed or at the very least hosed down.

The younger children were where it really showed. They weren't on their best behavior--who could be here--but the atmosphere was quietly obedient in a way it had never been under Maleficent. _Be careful, boys and girls, King Ben is watching. If you're very good, he’ll whisk you off to Auradon. Magic and money and all the eggs in the world._

The doors to the chip shop swung open. Uma and Harry in the center, heads bent over a large piece of paper talking in whispers away from the rest of the crew. This place, at least, had not changed.

“You're _late_ ,” Harry sing-songed.

“What for?”

“New plan.” Uma tapped her hand against the table twice, face lit up with a toothy grin. The atmosphere that clung to her felt...more open, free. He hoped their conversation had contributed somewhat. “Auradon City’s the past,” she said when he drew close enough to stand beside her. “We’re looking forward.”

“There’s plenty of other places to take.” Harry dragged a thumb along the corner of the table, drawing his hand up to his face with a wicked grin.

Before them was a map, inked by Harry’s crude hand and labeled _Neverland_. The bottom half was familiar to Gil; it decorated a large swathe of Harry’s back and the three of them had pondered over it often enough. The rest was new to him, though he knew where they had retrieved it.

“How did you convince CJ and Harriet to give up their bits?”

“Give up?” Gil’s head shot up at the new voice. CJ lounged in the crow’s nest above them, grinning beneath her hat. “I’d hardly call working together for an _equal share_ giving up!”

“My ship.” Uma did not look up and, in fact, leaned further over the map, her voice taking on an irritated edge that Gil seemed only to catch when it was aimed at others. “We agreed on twenty five percent for you.”

“And twenty five for Harriet.” CJ slid down the slight rope, dropping the rest of the way to the ground as she counted on her fingers. “Twenty five for Harry, of course. You wouldn’t have even known about this map if it weren't for him. Which leaves, I think, _twenty five_ for you as well. See? All equal!”

Harry stepped away from the table, encroaching CJ’s space the way he did everyone. He was gentler with his sisters, chin down and a hand on the shoulder, though they never seemed to need nor fall for the placation. Gil had occasionally wondered how different his own childhood would have been had he two twin sisters to wrestle instead.

“Uma’s the captain,” Harry said, thumbing back towards the girl in question. “My share’s her share.”

“Hm,” CJ looked up at her brother, unimpressed. “Harry, you really should captain _your own_ ship. What would Father think?”

Harry’s lips pressed together, but he said nothing and allowed her to pull away and approach the map again.

“None of this means anything without the rest.” CJ motioned to a small spot left noticeably blank in the bottom corner of the map. “Everything between Dragon Point and Hook’s Bay is a total crap shoot. Which makes the actual location of the island a mystery if you’ve never sailed there,” she explained.

“Who’d your dad give that part of the map to?” Gil gazed between Uma and Harry, the latter of whom was glowering at his hook.

CJ leaned against the post of the crow’s nest, arms crossed. “Our mother.”

Gil tried to keep his mouth in a straight line. Considering the way CJ was glaring at him, he hadn’t been successful. Tinker Bell’s was one of the more...contentious cases in the Isle’s history. She had remained a questionable inhabitant since her arrival and, eventually, enough people on the council agreed with her. It took almost five years, but she bartered her way off with the ultimatum she stay on Neverland for good behavior. He wondered if anyone outside of the Isle talked about the three children she left behind.

“Harriet says if we can get the rest of the map, she’ll lend us her crew too,” CJ continued, straightening her hat and pushing away from the post. “But I’ll tell you now she doesn’t think we can find the place.”

“You leave that to us,” Uma directed, eyes following the girl as she wound a path to the front of the shop.

“Captain.” CJ flicked the brim of her hat, walking backwards through the swinging doors.

“Even I can't navigate blind over that much space,” Harry leaned back over the table as soon as she was gone.

“Who else did you say might have the map?”

Harry twisted his hook into the wood. “Pan.”

“ _Peter Pan_?” Gil’s tone was enough to draw a few looks from the rest of the crew. “How do we get that?”

“Hush,” Uma slapped his stomach, almost playfully, unfolding a sheet of paper from her belt with the other hand. “I told you. I have a plan.”

Gil's eyes caught the large letters at the top:  _Underworld's Underdog Racing_. He felt his stomach sink.

* * *

Gil headed straight for the salon while Uma’s plan circled lazy loops in his brain. He held his breath and passed between the painted curtains with a smile. “Hey, Dizzy!”

“Really?” Dizzy was less than pleased despite his winning entrance. “I leave for Auradon Prep _tomorrow_. Can’t you cut me some slack?”

“Sorry, no can do. Uma says it's time to pay up and you know the rules. I don't make ‘em.”

She grumbled but marched dutifully to the cash register and handed over what little was inside anyway. “At least it’s you this time. Harry’s such a bonehead about it.”

“I don't think they allow that kind of language at your new school,” he chastised, though he knew he'd heard Mal say far worse.

“Oh I hope I remember everything,” she said, mostly to herself.

“How's Auntie Dru taking it?”

“As awfully as she takes everything. But she hasn't said no. Grandma on the other hand…” She winced and Gil did the same in sympathy.

His father could be bossy and loud and greedy and violent and...Gil forced himself to stop there. His father wasn’t the point. The point was that _his mother_ came with a family he had preferred to avoid while growing up. Sure the island claimed Maleficent was the most evil of them all, but he'd make a strong case for his Grandma Tremaine.

He finished counting, handing back half before pocketing the rest. Her face softened into a smile. “Thanks, Gil. You know, I can talk to Evie. I'm sure she'd be fine putting you on the list to come over too.”

“No thanks,” he laughed, shaking the money he had kept at her. “Big plans!”

"You know, whatever it is you're doing, you could probably afford it if you stopped stealing and started working!”

“I work! I’m an...enforcer!” He remembered the word Uma had used.

“You’re a _bully_ , Gil,” she huffed. “And you’re not even a good one! I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“That's all right, D,” Gil darted forward to muss up her hair. “I'm sure they'll teach you the difference once you're off the Isle.”

* * *

Gil had never been down the winding staircase to the gates of the Underworld. He’d never had a reason. Now he trailed slightly behind Uma and Harry, taking in the ethereal light and the rush of water around them that sounded like crying. He wondered if they were as scared as he was.

Their trek ended at a ostentatious, barred door and a large desk with two colorful imps grinning from behind it.

“Heya, kiddies!” Pain spoke first, overly white lighting his face. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you this soon.”

“What can we,” Panic gave a little bow, “do for you?”

“Here to race,” Uma dropped a bag of coins on the table in front of them, smoke wafting up around it and dissipating towards the ceiling before Gil could name the color. “Is that enough to buy in?”

Panic leaned forward, weighing the bag in his hand. “That’s enough for one of the fun runs.”

“Fun runs?”

“Some of the kids from Auradon Prep think racing is the hot new sport.” Pain settled back into the chair. “Can’t have them going back home with too many scrapes.”

“A little birdie told me the Pan likes to race here sometimes,” Uma paced from one corner of the desk to the other, stopping when she was in front of them once more. “I’m assuming he doesn’t do the _fun runs_.”

“Maybe,” Pain said, as Panic chimed, “That’s con-fee-den-tial information, client privilege and all.”

A blue hand, wreathed in flame, landed between the two and they dove underneath the desk, dropping the coin purse in a shower of sound. Gil and Harry took a step towards Uma, who hadn’t budged an inch.

“Iago’s got a big mouth.” Hades slid down into the large chair the demons had occupied, limbs loose and relaxed. “Pan plays sometimes, wins mostly. Keeps the books nice and tidy.”

“Which race?”

“That’d be the night run. Mano-a-mano, same price, with a little extra prize from your own collection given to the victor, should you lose.”

“What does _he_ bet?”

Hades narrowed his eyes, the flames above his browline rising and falling unpredictably. “What’s your play here, little fish?”

“We need something from him,” Uma explained. “A map.”

“Straight shooter, I like it.”

“I’m not here to lie to you, I’m here to take from him. Whatever he’s betting, how badly do you think he’d want it back?”

“More than enough for what you need.”

“So…?”

“Hm,” Hades tapped a finger to his chin. It was exaggerated and frightening, like everything about him. “It’d be good to see the ageless annoyance knocked off his pedestal. Yeah, I think I can work something out.” He pulled the coin purse closer to him. “Now, what if you lose?”

Uma grinned, raising a shoulder. “That won’t happen.”

“Sure, kid,” Hades’ lips pulled upward into something resembling a smile, his teeth like jagged knives. “Indulge me anyway. The necklace,” he motioned to her neck and Uma clutched the shell, shielding it from view. “Do we have a deal?”

* * *

Racing chariots, they were told as they were given a tour of the grand, decomposing coliseum, would be provided. Magic wasn't allowed in the the Underworld, same as anywhere else on the Isle, but it turned out the souls on Mount Olympus still had to go somewhere when they kicked it, and Hades was still taking names.

 _It’s a living,_ he’d said with the gusto of a man who’d said so many times before and no longer appreciated the joke. _Down here souls have as much power as I give them. So boom. Horses._

But each racer had a style. Something to give them a little _umph_. That was something they'd need to find on their own. Gil didn't think Harry or Uma had worried about style a day in their life. And Gil wasn’t worried about his own assignment either. Weapons of the physical sort were easy on the island. His dad had always encouraged him when he wanted fight someone. When Gaston found out it was for a competition he practically threw a pair of large crossbows at him.

Gil was the second to arrive back on the  _Lost Revenge_ with his prize.To his discomfort, Harry was the first. Gil recognized what he felt now as one of those untimely, absolutely useless crushes. Nothing that kept him awake at night, the way that Uma seemed to worry over her own direction since returning from Auradon, but enough to make him nervous. For the amount of time they spent together on the ship, Gil had done a good job at  _not_ being alone with Harry in the past few weeks. Harry was usually with Uma or among the crew and when he wasn't, it was easy to avoid him altogether.

There was a split second where Gil considered turning and heading back to the docks before Harry had a chance to see him, but a larger part of him (the part that had missed talking to his friend despite what inconvenient questions the rest of his brain continued asking) kept him walking a path up the gangplank.

"Harry," Gil placed the crossbows on a nearby crate, covering them with a piece of canvas. "Got more weapons for the race."

“Racing," Harry scoffed. Gil watched him piece together what must be something very important to the rigging of the ship if his concentration was anything to judge by. “Racing I can do.  _On the sea_. I would have beaten her for this ship if it weren't for extenuating circumstances. But on land? Wheels?”

"Maybe Uma has a hidden talent," Gil suggested hopefully. Uma did have a spectacular way of picking things up...or was spectacular at cheating.

"Doesn't matter," Harry huffed. “We don't lose, remember?”

It was comforting to hear him express the same doubts Gil had been having since he’d seen the flyer. Comforting and unsettling.

“Where is she?”

Harry motioned to the spot next to him, eyes glued to the bit of wood in his hand. “Uma,” he drew out the name as Gil sat, “has gone to procure weighted fishing nets. She says I have something to apologize to you for. I find that hard to believe since you’ve hardly spoken to me in a week.”

“Sorry,” Gil said because he couldn’t really deny it. “So you get to meet _the_ Peter Pan. Dream come true?”

“The _dream_ is this hook,” Harry waved said object, “in his stomach. The meeting is, hm...details.”

“Have you told your dad?”

“I will when it’s done.”

Gil nodded in understanding. Harry’s dad wasn’t impressed by much. “Are you worried about running into your mom?”

The wood snapped in Harry’s hand with a muttered, _whoops_. He set it gingerly between his feet. “No.”

“...you sure?”

“Talk about something else, Gil.”

With his hat placed behind him and brows drawn down together in set concentration, Harry looked the picture of aloof harmony. Some days Gil was sure he would turn round and Harry would have seeped into the grain of the wood, the ropes, the sails.

 _The ship would become something beautiful._ The poetic turn of his thoughts distressed him. Gil pulled his knees to his chest and crossed his ankles with a huff. He wasn't a poet, didn't think he could even name one, but he knew where to lay blame for this.

“I wish you hadn't kissed me.”

Harry stretched, back clicking, his face the picture of confusion.  “When?”

“Cotillion,” Gil said. “Before Uma came back.”

“I don't remember doing that.”

Gil couldn't find it in him to feel angry. He had suspected as much. The part of him that was used to impressing people took a hard blow and he had the distinct sensation of a sinking stone in his gut that he usually associated with tripping in public or a job poorly done. An odd mix of disappointment and embarrassment. He did what he always did in such occasions; turned it to bluster.

“Exactly! you’re always like that, aren’t you? And I know that, but I’m still just,” Gil tapped a finger against his temple, hopping it got across how turned about he’d been, ever since. “So I really just wish you hadn't!”

Harry’s face morphed to amusement as he struck and arm out and leaned in close. “Why? Was I bad?”

Gil could count the lines along Harry’s bottom lip. He shoved Harry’s shoulder, setting the other boy to laughing.

“Don’t think so hard,” Harry settled with a snort. Something on Gil’s face must have given away his irritation because Harry’s eyebrows drew up and he pushed forward to say, “I'll ask permission next time, _monsieur_.”

Gil shoved him again, harder, because the thought of Harry _asking_ to kiss him was somehow worse than simply being kissed. He’d already been among the forgotten once. He’d love nothing more than to take Harry’s advice, think as little as he often did about his troubles. Still he couldn’t help but wonder, had _he_ been so bad?

“Spoilsport,” Harry righted himself with a lopsided grin. “Is _that_ why you were giving me the cold shoulder?” Gil gave him a helpless look. Harry twisted a finger in his ear, lazy and seemingly composed. “I thought you were going to Auradon.”

“What? Why?”

“Isn’t _everyone_?” Harry examined the dirt on the end of his pinky, rubbing it on his pant leg.

“ _No_.”

“If you were smart you’d write to _King Ben_ and make a request at least.”

Gil looked at Harry, noting the possessive edge to his tone. Harry was clingy when it came to what he regarded as ‘his’. His hook, Uma, his sisters. Gil was surprised to find himself counted among them.

“I’m not smart.” Gil let his legs stretch out until their knees bumped together. “And all my friends are here.”

Harry ducked his head, his knee bumping back with equal force. “I’ll remember that.”

* * *

The night of the race saw Gil, Harry, and Uma putting the finishing touches on their chariot, a dark wood covered in barnacles and still soaked through as though Hades had just dragged it from the sea. Maybe he had. The horses, by contrast, were pure flame, and Gil stayed far away as he loaded the various trappings they had collected.

“Dad stopped selling cocking rope but I used one of my old belts to make you one.” Gil secured the knots on each end before he handed it, and the crossbows, over to Uma. “Remember how to use one of these?”

She lifted one of the bows with a grunt and narrowed her eyes down the scope. “I remember it almost taking your hand off, once.”

Gil winced; he remembered that too. He pressed a hand against the barrel, applying just enough pressure for Uma to lower it and open both eyes with a solid blink. The first time he had tried to teach her, they were barely thirteen and she had sweep kicked him after too many poorly notched arrows. At seventeen, she was no more fond of criticism, but far more receptive to adaptation. He stood behind her to kick her legs apart into a proper stance and she took the hit, planting her feet and lowering her chin.

“Glad you and him worked things out.” She notched an arrow into place, tilting her head in the direction of the chariot, where Harry was struggling to attach the large hook to its undercarriage without having the entire thing topple over.

“He thought I was going to go to Auradon,” Gil chuckled, keeping his voice low.

“You left before.” She played with the sights. He wondered what she was staring at in the distance, ignoring the little shock that went through him at her words. “When you got bored and other people got more interesting. When all those muscles and that nice hair started making interesting people interested in you.”

“That’s not why I left…,” Gil let the sentence hang. At the time, he hadn’t even realised he’d ‘left’ the small trio, or what that would mean. Obviously it meant more than he had been told.

“Doesn’t matter,” Uma loosed the arrow. In the distance, Gil watched a chunk of wood splinter off of the left pole directing towards the stables. She looked up with a brilliant smile. “You’re back now. Don’t leave again, Captain’s orders.”

“Yes, Captain,” Gil found himself smiling back on instinct, and smiling wider when he’d processed her words. “Great shot, by the way.”

“Of course it was.” Uma dropped the bow to her side with a twist of her hips.

“Uma,” Harry slid out from underneath the chariot, calling through clenched teeth. “Could use some assistance.”

“We’ve got this. Go scout the crowd.” Uma nodded towards the stables and the noise beyond it. “And...I’ll work on this, too.” She lifted the crossbow.

Gil gave a smart salute and set off as quickly as he could. With Uma and Harry busy, that left him with the horses. His father had instilled a love of the creatures early on, but _soulless_ , unbreathing ones? Gil was sure they could feel his unease by the way they kept staring him down.

The crowd was enough to fill a quarter of the coliseum; a mix of children from Auradon and the Isle, as well as a smattering of adults who looked only vaguely interested in the proceedings. A large amount of people by Gil’s estimation, though his numbers were drawn from events that took place on the Isle, which housed not many to begin with. Regardless, it was intimidating.

“Hey there, pirate,” the unfamiliar voice of a boy said from behind him and, a moment later, a red-haired child stood by his side. He was a foot shorter than Gil and dressed in green leather. _Racing clothes_ , something at the back of Gil’s mind itched, but the other’s voice drew him back like an enchantment, holding his attention over even his most pervasive thoughts. “You don’t look familiar.”

“How’d you know I was a pirate?”

“Dry, salt water hair, that fishy smell,” he listed off on his fingers, using the other hand to tap the belt at Gil’s waist. “But the sword’s always a dead giveaway, you know?”

“I’m Gil Legume,” Gil stuck out a hand. The boy had a cheerful laugh. Maybe he was an Auradon Prep student participating in the days Fun Runs, he thought with very little hope. “Son of Gaston.”

“Hm, never met the guy." The boy took Gil’s hand with both of his and gave it a vigorous shake.  “Peter Pan, put ‘er there!”

“I thought you might be.” Gil squeezed Peter’s fingers a little tighter before pulling his hand away. He felt his shoulder ache from the abuse. “We’re racing you tonight.”

“You?” Peter took in his appearance with a bit more interest now.

“Well, my captain, yeah.” Gil took a moment to imagine himself steering the soulless steeds around the track and visibly shuddered. “Hey, what are you betting on the race?”

Peter let out a short, airy chuckle. “Anyone ever tell you you're kind of like...a big kid? Very honest.” He leaned forward, chin held between thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger, observant. “How would _you_ like to never grow up?”

“Gil, what are you doing? Uma’s ready to...,” Harry rounded the corner and trailed off, graze dragging unsteadily between the two of them.

“As I live and breathe, a Hook!” Peter darted forward with a manic glee that reminded Gil, strangely, of Harry. Peter’s eyes were glued to Harry’s hand, the one cloaked by curved silver. “I hope, I hope, _I do hope_ _you bet that_.”

Harry’s smile twitched. Gil could see the threat behind it. A shark’s smile. “I’m not racing, but I’d be happy to give you a demonstration later.”

Peter looked, if anything, more delighted by the menace in Harry’s tone. “Is that a promise?”

Harry’s smile widened and seemed to freeze there. Gil could see the pink of his gums, the tips of his very sharp teeth. He used his uncovered hand to motion to Gil and Gil, obediently, moved to his side.

“Think about what I said, Gilliflower!” Peter tapped the side of his nose and winked as he practically danced back towards the stables. Gil felt distinctly uncomfortable though he couldn’t say it was the nickname or the gesture that did it.

“I swear I’m going to…,” Harry took a deep breath and laughed with not a hint of humour behind it. “Let’s go. Uma’s waiting.”

Harry swung an arm over Gil’s shoulders and gave him a shake, small and solid as though testing the halyards. It was grounding after a conversation that left him so strangely uprooted.

“What did he say?” Harry asked after a few steps in the opposite direction.

“He said I acted like a kid,” Gil let himself be pulled along, not sure why this, of everything had cycled back to the forefront of his mind. “He asked if I never wanted to grow up.”

“And you said no, of course.” Harry’s lip curled in distaste. “If you wouldn’t go to Auradon, surely you wouldn’t go with _him_.”

Confronted so bluntly with Harry's concerns, Gil didn't know how to reassure him. Luckily, Harry wasn’t going to let him.

“You’re already grown up!” Harry’s hand tightened around his shoulder. “Seventeen, _nearly_ eighteen. You're not a kid!”

“ _I_ know that.” Gil ducked out from Harry’s arm. “I wasn’t going to say yes.”

The set of Harry’s shoulders eased. He stared over one of them before turning entirely. “And he’s one to talk. How old must he be now?”

“Older than us. Older than our parents, maybe.” Gil guessed.

“It’s a stupid question anyway. No one wants to grow up. Honestly, you've known me since I was this big,” he held a hand a small ways from the ground. “If you’d asked me at any age before now if I wanted to stay forever young I probably would have leapt at the chance! _But_ _Mal_ had to get herself engaged to a King, and Uma has some very inconvenient feelings, so now here we are. Growing up.”

Put that way it sounded ridiculous, but a larger part of Gil was considering all the times Harry and Uma went after what they wanted. Uma had not hurt Ben and Harry had kissed him and those seemed like very adult things, in a vague way. It made him feel the sort of stupid he'd been trying to keep a leash on as much it made him feel like he had some growing up yet to do.

“I didn't come back because of Mal and the barrier or anything as mature as that,” Gil admitted, adjusting his bandana until a few loose curls escaped. “I came back because I wanted to be a pirate. I came back because I missed my friends.”

Harry’s mouth twisted in a fond smile, but his tone was exasperated. “But you came back.”

 _Doesn’t matter_ , Uma’s words circled Harry’s like a shark. _You came back_. Gil wondered if they’d talked about this.

“You stuck by us when it really mattered. Sounds like a _mature adult_ to me.” Harry certainly sounded more adult than Gil had heard him in their years together. The image was almost immediately destroyed as he tapped his hook against the bottom of his chin in a gesture that was surely uncomfortable and distinctly adolescent. “Not _too_ much growth, mind you. We do still have a race to win.”

They walked the rest of the way to the track in companionable silence, past the stands and straight to Uma’s carriage, where her focus was set squarely across the yard. Peter was being helped into a small, green jacket, loaded down with something Gil couldn't make out. Between the racers and the audience there was a raised platform, from which Harry and Gil would be able to see the entire track. They didn’t need to be on it, it turned out, as Hades had two large televisions broadcasting the event in glorious if occasionally static color.

“Good to know our money is going to something other than his cigars,” Uma raised a sardonic brow, stepping into the chariot. Harry dipped his head forward to kiss the place where her knuckles wrapped around the edge of the wooden frame.

“For luck,” he winked, tipping his hat.

“I'm not going to war, Harry,” Uma rolled her eyes, but she seemed fondly amused despite herself.

Harry gave the chariot a final shake, as though afraid it might fall apart. It _might_ , Gil thought with mild trepidation, and gave it a kick of his own. Uma gave them a reproachful look and they moved to stand behind her.

“Welcome, welcome,” Hades walked out to the sound of cheers, stopping between the two racers and giving the closest horse a light stroke down its long face. “Yes, hello everyone! It’s late and I have three of these tonight. Let’s not draw this out, hm? Racers, place your bets!”

“My shell,” Uma’s arm shot up, necklace held aloft. Peter squinted at the object, intrigued.

“Pan?”

“My shadow,” Peter threw a thumb over his shoulder, voice nearly drowned by the sound of hoots and hollers. The two boys flanking Peter were, without a doubt, the loudest.

“His  _shadow_ ,” Uma half-turned to hiss, grin wide and feral. “We get that, we won't need a _map_! We can take Neverland itself!”

Harry laughed low and menacing, whatever earlier doubts he had felt gone or, for the moment, forgotten. Gil tried to catch either of their eyes with his own, worried glance, but once those two stood behind an idea, fighting it did as much good as pushing back the tide. He wanted to point out the practiced air about Peter. The fans he had in the crowd. Just how much had they underestimated their competition?

“You know the rules,” Hades clapped loudly, but spoke quietly enough for the few of them. “One weapon per circuit, too many injuries and you switch drivers. Death is disqualification. But, on the plus side, you’ve died in the right place! All right, folks, let’s get this show on the road!”

* * *

“ _Uma_! Bow! Aim for the--oh, come on!”

Greatly, Gil thought. They had _greatly_ underestimated Peter Pan.

The first circuit had gone surprisingly well. Peter had tuned a flute that, by the commentator’s explanation, was catered to the ears of certain younger individuals. Luckily, Uma had either aged out of what he had prepared for or, more likely, so much time among sea creatures had immunized her. For her part, Uma had deployed the nets,

The second circuit was...exhausting. For Harry and Gil, anyway. The crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely as Uma zigged and zagged through the dirt, dodging a spill of marbles in her path. Harry paced in a tight circle while Gil watched the screen, the lines on Uma’s face shifting from surprise to fury as she reached to her foot for one of the bows.

“Yes, yes!” Harry stopped suddenly and leaned forward over the railing of the platform, as though she’d be able to hear him over the din of cheers and hoof beats. “Aim for the yoke!”

A bell sounded as Peter rounded the track. Circuit three, Gil tightened his hands into fists. On the screen Uma narrowed her eyes and fired. The horse on the left side of Peter’s chariot bucked and turned inward before a futile attempt to tear away.

Uma lifted another bow and fired again.

This time the horse shot off towards the middle of the coliseum, disappearing into a cloud of blue-grey smoke when it hit a pillar.

Uma’s brackish chariot passed Peter’s, her eyes alight with mirth. Gil dropped his head to his chest and let out a breath as she made it past the first checkpoint, the second, third…

“No…,” he heard Harry moan beside him and, with encroaching dread, turned his attention back to the race.

_Looks like Pan’s pulled out one of his old favorites, Pixie Dust! We haven't seen this one in a while, folks. Uma’s gonna be a real contender!_

The dust, shiny and visible from across the coliseum, settled over the remaining horse. And, like that, Peter was airborne.

 _Uma’s not giving up yet!_ Gil heard Pain or Panic say, it was hard to tell over the loudspeaker. _Third circuit and she still hasn't used her last weapon._

_What is that, Pain?_

_Panic it’s a, well, seems like...it's a grappling hook! I can't believe it! What a stroke of luck for the young sea witch! And it looks like Peter is back on solid ground._

_Oof, bad luck for Pan fans, you know they love to see him soar across that finish line._

“No more weapons, and he’s down a horse!” Gil grabbed Harry's shoulder, giving it a small shake.

“It’s over,” Harry stared up at the screen, jaw tight. Gil followed his gaze.

The horse and off-white chariot carrying Peter had hobbled across mere moments before Uma’s...but beat her it had.

_Peter Pan continues his winning streak! Can anyone beat this titan?_

Harry jumped over the railing of the platform as they announced the next racers. Gil followed, meeting the others at the finish line. It was tense and uncomfortable, despite the merrymaking of Peter and his friends.

“Oh, right, my prize!” Peter pulled away from one of the boys and held out a hand, smile so large his eyes crinkled. Gil had long since gotten the impression that Pan, while a hero, was not a very good _person_.

Uma dragged her necklace off and stared down at it with what must be practiced calm. They had worked _hard_ to get it. After studying it for long moments, she held the shell above Peter’s hand, eyebrows drawn together tight. “You'll be delivering this to the king of course?”

A dead, flinty look settled in Peter’s eyes, his smile turned sharp. “Of course. I'm a good boy after all.”

She dropped the shell. “That's what I thought.”

“Uma…,” Harry looked ready to attack Peter’s retreating back, gentling at the hand she placed to his chest.

“If I can't have it,” she said, voice low. “I'll make sure he can’t.”

“What now? Follow him?”

“He’s just gonna fly,” Uma waved away the idea, clearly frustrated. “Kidnap the friend?”

“Hm,” Harry considered this. “I like it. Which one?”

Gil listened to them and watched Peter pocket Uma’s shell from a distance. It wasn't going to work, he thought. Likely the first fully seditious thought he’d had since joining Uma’s crew, though he considered it one born out of concern, not distrust. His father knew how to strategize, and make people listen to him and Gil inherited none of these traits, but he could recognize a bad plan when he heard one, whether he said something or not. This time he _had_ to.

He took a step towards Peter, then another, and more quickly another. Behind him he heard his friends call to him. After a moment of indecision, he heard their footfalls too. But he was there before they could stop him.

“Oh, hello again," Peter's greeting was chummy, like they were already old friends. "Are you lost?”

“No.”

“Would you like to be?” Peter raised his brows twice in quick succession. “Offer still stands.”

“Have it take a seat before it gets tired,” Harry placed a hand on Gil’s shoulder and leaned forward head first, like a snake.

“I'm all right growing up--”

“You say that now!” Peter chimed in before Gil could finish the thought. He started speaking again, more slowly this time.

“...but I _would_  like to go to Neverland.”

“Is that what all this was about?” His face fell into a disappointed frown. “Aw, but getting to Neverland’s easy! Second star to the right and keep heading straight.”

Gil couldn’t remember the last time he's seen a star without squinting. He’d seen pictures, and sometimes they got lucky during the winter evenings. “It’s that simple?”

“When you're traveling by air, sure.”

“And by ship?”

“Why travel by sea when you can fly with me?”

“I'm going with my friends,” Gil said with some force.

“Oh right. These guys.” Peter looked to his left and right as though he'd just remembered the others were still there. His gaze lingered on Harry. “You know, I worked pretty hard to get Tink off that stinking island, but I thought if she was going to go off and make herself all _boring_ by having you that she would have at least taught you how to fly. No? Not even a speck of dust in there?”

Gil didn't remember throwing a punch, but he did remember his face hitting the dirt, a pair of feet on his lower back with barely any weight behind them at all. He turned his head to spit out granules of dust collecting between tongue and teeth and caught a glimpse of Harry and Uma lunging for the boy perched on his back. Gil felt him fly into the air once more and he righted himself as quickly as he could. The two others who had stayed back until now, met them with fists raised, stopped only by Peter’s outstretched hand above them.  

"Easy, rough boys! And,” he nodded to Uma, “Captain. I'll tell you kiddos, no need for a dust up.” Harry helped Gil stand as Peter set his feet back on solid ground. “All _you_ have to do is give me the hook.”

Uma placed a hand on her scabbard. “We already gave you the shell, you--”

“That's not mine, remember?” Peter pouted. “Property of King Ben and his precious magical museum. No, no, I want something distinctly unmagical and, well, just for me!”

Harry was clutching the hook with decidedly less calm than Uma had displayed. Gil couldn't explain the attachment. They hadn't gone on a quest for it, he’d not really done anything to deserve it. Likely the reason why Uma found his fascination with it mildly irritating, and did nothing further now.

He locked eyes with Uma for the space of a few breaths before she lowered her hand and jerked her head at Pan.

“...fine,” Harry ground out, lowering his own arms and still clutching the sharp piece of silver. “First the map.”

One of the boys pulled a flyer from the nearest pillar, flipping it to its back and handing it to Peter. He stared at it. “Am I supposed to magic it on the paper?”

“Sorry,” he jogged off, leaving the rest of them in a stilted, awkward silence until he returned with a writing utensil. Peter snatched it from the boy with a swipe of his hand and began to draw. Gil made out a wreath of currents in tight, waved patterns, and a small circle of an island above the eastern shore of Neverland that hadn’t been there before.

“That'll get you there. After that you're on your own.” Peter held out the paper with a wave and a jolly little smile that Gil didn’t trust one bit. “And you know when you get there? I'll be waiting.”

Uma tore the map from Peter’s hand. As soon as her fingertips touched the paper, Harry dropped his hook, kicking it hard and scattering the other group of three. “I hope that's a promise.”

* * *

CJ met them at the gates as morning stole over the Isle. She stopped picking at a hole in her leggings to look them over, one after the other, her expression sinking further with each.

“Betting in the Underworld? What an exceptionally stupid plan, I could have told you it wasn’t going to work.” She reached out to lift her brother's hand, absent it's customary accoutrement. He snatched it away as though burned.

“And what were you doing while we were out here making an effort?” Uma crossed an arm over her stomach, more at ease now that they were above ground.

“ _I_ finished fixing _your_ ship,” CJ turned on a heel to face the other girl. “You’re welcome. Please tell me we at least got _something_ out of this.”

With a little more flair than necessary, Uma held up the map. 

* * *

Harry disappeared to his cabin as soon as they reached the _Lost Revenge_. This wasn’t too unusual, except Uma had veered off in the opposite direction with CJ to check the map against the landscape of their own. Gil didn’t know anything about geography, but he knew a little bit about Harry, so he followed the former below deck.

“En _ter_ ,”

Harry was sitting against the head of his bed, tracing scratches in the wall that spelled out his name and had clearly been carved out by his hook. Gil folded himself into a cross-legged position at the foot of the bed, Harry’s knees going akimbo to accommodate him.

“Sorry about...that,” Gil motioned to the wall. The hook was a ridiculous, clunky thing that was always getting in the way, but Harry seemed to have a fondness for it so he figured the sentiment was in line at least.

“And they call my dad the villain?”

“Harry, your dad made you eat outside for a week because you forgot to call him Captain.”

“He was teaching a lesson about respect.”

“You didn't learn it,” Gil snorted, thinking about how rarely he called Uma as such, and he respected her as much as his dad, for sure.

Harry made a clicking noise with his tongue and smiled, rather devilishly. “Probably not.”

“That thing Peter said about your mom teaching you to fly...think it’s true?”

“Why do you always want to talk about her?” Harry tossed a pillow at him. Gil took it square in the face and let it fall to his lap. Harry was smiling still, but Gil could hear the real irritation in his tone. “I don't know her, you _certainly_ don't know her. You barely know your own mother so stop digging after mine.”

Gil took a silent moment, still absorbing the fact that he'd been snapped at and going through a rolodex of responses until he landed on the perfect one. He opened his mouth to fire back and, in a moment directly opposed to the staircase wit in which Gil was used to accompanying, found himself interrupted by the beginnings of an _apology_.

“Sorry,” Harry ran his hands back through his hair, letting them fall loosely to his knees. “This isn’t on you. CJ was right, this was a stupid plan. I knew it and I didn’t say anything.”

“What would you have said?”

Harry remained silent, running his thumb along the tips of his fingernails in a nervous drumbeat. Likely his thoughts were at the same place Gil’s were. What could _anyone_ say to Uma to change her mind?

“Should have _mentioned_ ,” he eventually settled with a sigh. He motioned to Gil with a loose wave of his wrist. “Glad we didn’t all lose something, at least.”

“Don’t have anything I’m too protective of,” said Gil, not feeling too ashamed. He was a treasure _seeker_ , not an owner. “Well, you and Uma, of course.”

Harry stared for a weighted, mute second before he responded. “Me and Uma. Of course.”

“What?” Gil laughed nervously, after a long moment where Harry said nothing else and continued to stare.

“May I have my pillow back?”

Gil glanced down at his lap where the atrociously orange thing had settled, and thought briefly about throwing it at Harry’s face, but the aggravated moment from earlier had passed. He held it out instead.

Harry’s arm struck out to take it, fingers wrapping around Gil’s wrist quick as a bow string, light as the fletching of an arrow. Gil tried desperately not to topple forward as his heartbeat leapt, speeding to the singular point where their skin touched.

Like a slow motion picture show Gil watched Harry lean closer and closer, until he registered Harry’s lips mere inches from his hand. Gil could feel himself freeze, and Harry did the same, mouth paused perilously above Gil’s open palm.

“May I kiss you?” he asked, with the ghost of a smile. “I _did_ say I'd ask.”

 _“I said_ that was worse,” Gil managed, counting the pulse beats at his wrist just to keep focused.

Harry tilted his head in a considering way and hummed around the center of Gil’s hand, breath flicking over old calluses and deep-cut lines. “No you didn't.”

No perhaps he hadn't, but he distinctly remembered thinking as much very loudly.

“Okay but…,” Gil took a hardwon breath, shoulders drawn in tight. “Don't you dare make fun of me.”

“Why would I?” Harry raised one brow, then the other to meet it, and dropped Gil’s hand. “What do you think this is?”

Gil shrugged. He didn’t know the answer. He didn’t think himself as adult as Uma and Harry claimed, but he wasn’t so much a child that he couldn’t recognize what loving someone felt like. A dangerous feeling on the Isle, that rooted you in place and let the other person take advantage of you if you weren’t careful. Harry and Uma had always been together, no matter who they chased. They were safe to slowly fall in and out of love with, because Gil knew he wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually _try_ anything with one of them.

Then Harry had kissed him. And Uma wanted him to stay.

“I know you told me not to think about it but…,” Gil winced. Harry _had_ asked him not to give the matter any thought and, in truth, that’s all he’d been doing. “What do _you_ think this is?”

Harry looked at him as though he’d started speaking in a foreign language. “I just wanted to kiss you again. Seemed like a good time for it. Does it have to be so complicated?”

Gil considered deflecting. Even more briefly considered kissing Harry while his guard was down, making sure he’d _remember_ this time. Instead he opted for the truth. “It _feels_ complicated.”

“Hm.” Harry settled back against the headboard, expression curious. “We’re going to be on this ship a while, huh?”

“Probably,” Gil said, slowly.

“Once we set sail, I'm going to be pretty busy,” Harry began tracing the patterns on the wall once more. “First Mate’s business and what have you. You ever feel less complicated and want to…,” he drummed his fingers, eyes narrowing in thought. “Give this another shot? I'll let you do the asking. Deal?”

Gil stared at Harry’s outstretched hand. He remembered the feeling that had gathered in his wrist, that made his head wooly. Now all he felt was a strange, weightless relief he hadn't known he’d been dragging behind him until Harry held out his hand and said--

“ _Deal_?” Harry wiggled his fingers impatiently and Gil slowly, surely took it. 

* * *

This time, when Uma and Gil met on the deck of the _Lost Revenge_ , she found him. The sky had dimmed just enough for the stars to shine, though Gil could hardly see them for the smog.

“Well, well,” she said, sauntering from midship to stern. “You look _debauched._ ”

“Dewhat?”

“Huh, thought your dad would have taught you that word at least. Abused,” she leaned up on tiptoe to peck him on the corner of his lips. Gil felt himself go hot across the bridge of his nose. “In a very pleasurable way.”

He straightened his rumpled clothes, and ran a hand down his face. Teasing, she could only be teasing. His thoughts couldn't make him look in any way different.

He caught sight of a folded paper in her hand as she moved past him to the railing. She whistled, loud and sharp, and produced a few odd-sounding clicks from the back of her mouth. A sleek, grey fish bobbed to the top of the water, and Uma slipped the paper between its surprisingly sharp teeth.

“For your mother?”

“But then who’d read it?” She coughed, nearly choking at her own joke. “No, it’s for Ben. A little bit of insurance in case Pan goes back on his word.”

Gil bobbed his head in what he hoped looked like support. “You did really great with the bows."

"Huh?" Uma tracked his movement as he walked to join her by the side of the ship. "Thanks. We still lost."

"Hey," he looped an arm around her shoulder, ignoring the disgruntled look she shot him. "We don't lose, remember?"

"I don't know, Gil," she crossed her arms, expression slacking into resignation. "Sure feels like it this time."

Gil turned his face upwards once more. "Which second star do you think he meant?”

Uma growled. “I think Pan is a liar and a cheat.”

“I thought that was your favorite type of person.”

“True," she conceded. "That’s how I know we can’t trust a word he says.”

“Can we trust the map?”

“CJ thinks so,” Uma readjusted her hat with a grin. “One way to find out.”


	2. riders on the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pirate’s life had seemed good in theory, Gil thought to himself a week later and on the verge of heatstroke again, but he may not have been bred for the sea.

Ben flipped the shining, familiar object over in his hand and considered the funny luck of his life so far.

He hadn’t been punished for inviting four unknown teenagers to Auradon Prep; he’d been rewarded with friendship and some of the best protectors a king could ask for. The assurance of the most evil Maleficent now residing under the Fairy Godmother’s watchful eye as a lizard was a nice bonus, he’d secretly admit. He had ascended to the throne unscathed, been kidnapped and returned unharmed, and cursed--not once, but twice--to fall in love. Now, in his hands, rested the most valued possession of one of his enchanters.

“Huh,” he shook it a little, and held it to his ear, fully prepared for the sounds of sinister things. Kept souls or the beautiful melody of a human's voice. All he heard was the muted sound of his ear pressed against the small shell.

“Ben, I said _look_ at it,” he winced as the necklace was snatched from his hand, clipping his ear. Across the desk, Evie’s brow knitted in reproach. “Well, what do you think?”

Ben looked at the two letters on his desk. One from Peter Pan, the other from, of all people, _Uma_. 

“I think the illegal underground racing is something to keep an eye on.” 

“Illegal?” Evie grimaced, clearly vacillating. “ _Morally ambiguous_ underground racing, maybe?” 

“Lawfully ambiguous, morally unethical,” Ben corrected, just as quick. 

“I’ll let Mal debate that with you later,” Evie’s mouth quirked up into a grin and Ben let himself chuckle. “Whatever the case, it looks like Pan’s _seriously_ pissed Uma off.” 

“She might be in trouble…,” And, about this, Ben couldn’t help feeling troubled, himself. He felt a hand fall over his and looked up at Evie, knowing smile set firm on her face. 

“Luckily, I know just the pirate who might lend us a hook.”

* * *

 “That's going to be big,” CJ slapped Gil’s elbow and handed him the spyglass. 

He looked across the bow at the gathering clouds. He could smell them before he saw them, the storm that creeped up on them was the sort that drove the Isle into their homes for days at a time. Those below them were already gripped with the mad rush of preparation. 

“ _Again_?” CJ leaned against the crow's nest, eyes narrowed at two arguing figures on the deck. A different sort of storm. “Quarreling should happen in the captain’s quarters. Father wouldn’t let this nonsense fly on his ship. Neither would Harriet.” 

Gil waited for the inevitable snap back before he remembered the two people who would say anything were fighting with one another on deck. He plucked up his courage to say something in their stead. 

“This isn't Harriet’s ship.” Gil thought he sounded firm, commanding. 

“Obviously,” CJ rolled her eyes. “The _traitor_ …” 

Gil patted her shoulder, watching her stance slowly soften. He felt sorry for her, in truth. The siblings had not had a fond farewell... 

“What do you mean you're not going?” 

Harriet had shown up at the chip shop as agreed upon. That she showed up with a suitcase and a letter from Auradon royalty was the issue. 

“I've been invited to attend college courses starting next semester.” Harriet brandished the page like a blade. It struck as lethal as one to look at Harry and CJ’s face. 

“Traitor!” CJ flew forward, stopped by Harry's hand across her shoulders. You promised us--” 

“My crew.” Harriet turned to Uma to say. “And you'll have them. The ones who’re stupid enough to follow you. I’m even giving you enough notice to use my leaving to sail through the barrier and go your own way.” 

“Between you and me,” Uma leaned to whisper to Gil when Harriet looked away. “I'm happier not to have her.” 

Gil nodded slowly, eyebrows raised. 

“What kind of a pirate are you?” CJ hissed. 

“One who learned a thing or two from Headmaster Facilier.” Harriet folded her letter, opening her suitcase enough to slide it inside. “Chief lesson among them; don't repeat the mistakes of the past. Father fought the Lost Boys over and over again. he lost each and every time.” 

Harry dropped his arm, and CJ paced towards the back of the shop like a caged cat. When he spoke, his voice shook but his tone was even. “What about Mom?" 

Harriet stilled, suitcase clicking shut under her hands. “I trust you'll let her know _exactly_ how I feel.” 

“You don't come with us, Harriet,” Harry sidled up to her sounding more like himself now, and set a hand on her suitcase like it might prevent her from leaving somehow. “I'll just tell her you're dead.” 

“Tell her whatever you want, Harry.” Harriet snatched the bag away from him with unmerited force. “She wouldn't know the difference would she?” 

A flash of lightning in the middle distance caught Gil’s attention, calling him back to full focus. The wind whipped a piece of canvas at CJ’s face. Gil reached up, on instinct, to block it. She looked at the sheet of white through furious, narrowed eyes before turning her attention to the deck once more. “Can you tell those two we’ve got more to worry about than their spat?” 

“I can try,” Gil had to shout now, wind coming in fast. He had to hope the drops dotting the wood might catch Harry and Uma’s attention, but the storm hadn't so far. They’d been fighting for any reason they could fit a pinky round since they weighed anchor. This time, he’d have to guess it was the hook that set one of them off. The hook was a wooden thing Harry’d carved out, clumsier even than his old one. He was determined to work around it despite of, or perhaps because of, how it drove Uma to insanity. Gil landed behind them, determined to stay out of their way until the worst had passed. 

“Look we all lost okay?” Uma was holding her hat tight to her braids. Harry cut her a look that said he’d caught her dismissive tone, but otherwise remained silent. “I lost more!” 

Harry shoved one of the crates into Bonny’s waiting arms, and further down the steps it continued until safely below deck it was. Gil stepped around them until he could help Gonzo manage the foresail as it folded in on itself and down towards the deck. 

“Talk to me!” 

“It always has to be worse for you doesn’t it?” Harry said with a snap of his teeth. “You lost more? It’s _your_ fault we’re in this mess!” 

“It was just a stupid hook!” 

"I knew it--” 

“Guys!” Gil turned with a roll of his eyes.

Given their distraction and his position, he saw the fraying rope before they could.

Gil rushed to push them out of the way and they stumbled backwards a foot, easy, against his arms; one for each of them. The snap was louder than their shouting had been and the box that came after it whipped hard against Gil’s shoulder. He felt nothing for a solid few seconds as he struggled to sit, eventually helped by several hands at his arms and back. It was when they touched him that the scorching pain began. 

“Get him below deck,” Uma was all captain now. Harry nodded, dropping the hook at once to get a better grip on Gil, arm slung over his shoulders. “CJ, take over for Harry!” 

Among the wax and woodwork foundations of his youth Gil remembered his father’s hunting lessons, and the myriad of injuries that accompanied them. His mother felt a keen discomfort, not that Gil or his brothers were hurt, but that she had to be subjected to the sight. Further that she was expected, in any way, to care for them. 

In retrospect, and knowing now what he does about the Tremaines, it shouldn't have been at all shocking that she left as soon as she had. 

Gil let Harry drag him down the hall and remembered catching one of the few small beasts who’d made a home for itself in the vines outside of Hell Hall. His mother was taking her time in leaving and his father was using that time to convince her she was wrong. Loudly. So he and his brothers all found ways to be away from the house for the space of hours. 

He remembered lining the sights and doing everything just as he was taught. He also remembered the sound of the crossbow backfiring, the split second of nothing before pain all down his arm. He was sure he'd blown half his thumb off with this one, but he couldn't go home yet. 

Harry’s house was close enough to stumble to. The other boy would soak through all the wool in the house trying to patch him up, but if Harriet was there they might have a decent chance at saving his basic motor functions. 

Uma was there instead, which was a bit of a shock because she’d never liked Harry’s house (or Gil’s) with its too many siblings trying to tell her what to do. She was kissing Harry, which should have been less of a shock, Gil reflected years later. In his defense he was losing a lot of blood, and while it wasn’t the first time they’d kissed it was the first time he’d seen it. 

“Can you two…,” Gil trailed off as they glanced up from their laps, expressions somewhere between startled and mortified. 

“Is that _your_ blood?” Uma leapt over the back over the couch, eyes comically wide. Harry was a half second behind her, darting off in the direction of his room. Uma led him to the kitchen and stood in the middle of the room, seemingly at a loss. No water, no ice, no salves. And he was bleeding all over her new rings. 

Harry slid in behind him, a small box in one hand and a few very nice dress shirts in the other. The latter he handed to Uma who ruined one and used the second as a bandage as Gil tried, and failed, not to cry out through the pain. 

“What are you waiting for, Harry?” Uma grit her teeth, loosening her grip then seemed to think better of it and wrapped the shirt tighter.  “You've got the sewing kit, so get sewing!” 

“I brought it for _you_!” Harry said, panicked. “I don't know how to mend a dress shirt! You think I can mend _a person_?” 

“You think I can?” Uma stared at the box like it might bite her. 

“Guys if you can't do anything, can you please take me to someone who can?” Gil imagined he said, though it may have come out half a groan by the time he was through speaking. Harry exchanged a glance with Uma and dropped to his knees with a sigh. 

“Dad’s gonna murder me…,” he reached under the sink and shimmied until he was half gone. From above, Gil heard a _click_ and a few awkward back crawls later, Harry emerged with a handful of sealed vials. “He doesn't know we know about these, but after he gave Harriet and me our tattoos he used some on our backs. When he did Calista’s, I followed him.” 

“What is it?” Gil blinked down at the blue liquid, his vision a little unsteady. 

“Just water from what I can tell.” Harry shook it a little before unstopping it. “From Neverland, probably.” 

“Must be some water,” Uma groused. “But anything’s better than the poison at the docks. Come on.” 

He remembered all of this, in the loopy daze of one recently hurt, and he hoped Harry had learned something about medicine since that time. Gil felt like he wouldn't be much help just now. 

“I'm glad your dad didn't murder you,” Gil said as Harry deposited him on the bed in the Captain’s quarters; the largest by far. 

Harry paused in his mad rush about the room. Gil wiggled his right thumb, eyes drawn to the small scar along the bone. 

“He nearly did. Two shirts gone over a tiny scratch.” 

“Not mad about his special stash missing?” 

“Never noticed.” Harry settled on the corner of the bed with a pair of scissors and a bottle. His eyebrows wiggled playfully, dispelling some of the tension in the room. “I replaced it while he was raving about the shirts.” 

Gil laughed. “ _How_?” 

Harry ignored the question, focusing on Gil’s shoulder with the schooled expression that meant Gil should brace for more pain, not less. “Let’s have a looksee, then,” Harry kept a steady humming and nervous clicking as he removed Gil’s vest then, more gently, his undershirt, hands shaking slightly. Gil tried to do him the favor of looking anywhere near confident in his doctoring skills. Eventually Harry let out a deep breath he tried to cover with a laugh. 

“Looks like it’s just an abrasion, but we’ll want to take care of it if you don’t want it bleeding through your shirts. I’m happy to get rid of all of them but I don’t think you’re too keen.” 

The bottle Harry had turned out to be pure alcohol. Gil didn't even attempt to bite his tongue as the liquid left a scorching trail between his shoulder blades. 

“Stop being stupid,” Harry corked it again with a slap of his palm. “Next time you see us arguing like a pair of fools, let the damned rope give us what for.” 

Gil knew he would never, but nodded convincingly enough that Harry turned away with a scowl. 

“It was Carlos,” Harry said, as he put the liquor away. “I told him you got hurt casing his place--” 

“I wasn't _casing_ ,” Gil interrupted, not truly outraged. Harry walked back to him with a piece of boiled Devil’s claw root and a preoccupied expression. 

“He made me some kind of blue tincture...worked well enough to fool the old man.” Harry carried on, holding out the root for Gil to take. “Must not have been any special sort of water.”

Gil stared at his thumb again. “You don't think it healed me?” 

Harry sniffed, slapping the back of Gil’s hand until he brought the root to his mouth. It had a stale taste that Gil’s stomach recoiled against, but he knew from experience it would ease the pain. “I think we were fifteen and had never seen that much blood from what was probably just a shallow cut. I’d bet your whole hand that whatever De Vil made was worth more than what was in those vials.” 

“Hm, I miss those guys. Carlos and Jay and them.” Gil leaned forward as the ship rocked violently. Harry was staring at him, steadying himself with a knee against the baseboard of the bed. 

“I'll go get some kelp,” Harry said through his teeth. “For the red round your shoulder. Don't fall over.” 

Gil didn't fall forward but he did find himself listing sideways, tossed between two uncomfortable pillows (surely more comfortable than the floor). The pain between his shoulder was a dull ache now. He pulled the flattened tube of the Devil’s claw from his mouth, tossed it near the window, and closed his eyes. 

When he opened them again Harry was sitting in his chosen corner of Uma’s bed, slowly unwinding a long piece of seaweed. Gil watched him lean forward and winced at the slimy feel of it against his back. 

“Sorry it took so long, things needed doing topside.” 

“Ship’s stopped moving,” Gil said, throat scratchy from sleep. “The storm pass?” 

“Hurricane,” Harry corrected, laying another piece of kelp against Gil’s back. “Tried to flip the ship and all.” 

“I slept through _that_?” 

“Well,” Harry sat back against the wall, hand resting absently against Gil’s foot. “You were hurt.” 

Gil stared at Harry's fingers, drumming idly against the inside of his foot. It tickled slightly, and Harry caught the involuntary flinch of muscles attempting to hold back a laugh. Harry stretched out his hand, forcibly still for a moment, then wrapped it more firmly around Gil’s ankle. 

“Why do you miss them?” 

Gil felt like he had only just been talking about Carlos and the others but that had to have been...hours ago. Harry could hold on to a thought far better than he. Gil struggled to sit and immediately regretted it; the kelp only helped minimally and the abrasion on his back still stung. Harry made a wincing, sympathetic noise. 

“Not _them_ really just...don't you ever miss things being normal sometimes?” Gil said when the pain passed. “Like how it used to be?” 

Harry was silent for longer than Gil expected, quieter than he was used to when he finally spoke. “You think them coming back’s gonna make things _normal_?” 

Gil bristled, defensive at the smug tone Harry had taken. The feeling passed when Gil actually looked at him; Harry was pale, more so than usual, and obviously tired. With all the wrinkles in his rain-damp clothes, he looked wrung out. 

“No, probably not.” Gil admitted, brought down a little in the face of Harry’s appearance and his own injury. “It'll get better,” Gil assured him. “It can’t all be losing races and running into hurricanes forever. I mean, we kidnapped a king, Harry! We’re sailing to Neverland. Normal just keeps changing I guess.” 

“Must be you and Uma are doing a better job keeping pace with what's _normal_ than I am. She’s worried about things she won't talk to me about. As if I can't guess,” Harry crossed his arms, emitting a string of curses Gil couldn't quite make out. Among them were definitely names; Ben and, a few times, Mal. “She'll talk to _you_. And you? I used to be able to guess at you, but I have no idea what you're thinking these days.” 

_You're leaving me_ , Gil parsed more clearly this time. _She's pulling in a different direction and you're keeping up better than I can_. 

With the foot not held captive Gil nudged Harry in the softest part of his side. Harry drew away slightly with a smile and Gil relaxed back against the pillows, ignoring the watchful look the other had trained on him. “You can always ask.” 

“I guess you're still an easy target.” Harry settled himself with a small grin, laying out the opposite way but close enough that their hips pressed together. If Gil had one thing to thank his pain for, it was keeping his focus off of how very tactile Harry was given any opportunity. “Uma takes more skill.” 

“If you asked her, she'd tell you.” Gil said with some surety. Harry’s expression fell into something contemplative, tinged with suspicion. “It's you. She's probably been waiting for you to ask what's wrong since she came back.” 

“Of course I _have_ but,” Harry tilted his head back. “Some of the rules changed without telling me and...it's just not like before.” 

“So ask her again. I bug her all the time,” Gil closed his eyes. “Probably the reason she’s talking to me now.” 

“In the morning maybe,” Harry said after a moment. 

“It's not morning?” Gil asked and received no response for it. “Think Uma’s gonna be mad I’m in her bed?” He said around a yawn. He could feel himself falling asleep again. 

“Who cares?” Harry settled in more firmly, arms wrapped around the bottom of Gil’s legs. “...shouldn't’ve said what she did about my hook.” 

_You changed the rules too,_ Gil opened one eye to stare at Harry. Out loud he said, “No she shouldn't have. But this isn’t her fault, I think.” 

Harry’s grip relaxed a little. “G’night, Gil.” 

“Goodnight, Harry.”

* * *

Gil woke with Uma snoring on his chest, mouth slightly ajar and face soft in a way it never was when awake. He dislodged her as gently as possible and sat up to assess the damage to his shoulder. No bleed-through, Harry had gotten that much right at least, but it _stung_. And he was sure Uma had meant to help by falling asleep on the opposite side, but sleeping on him at all had made his entire back twingey and uncomfortable. Looking at her, he imagined she’d had an equally rough night. He pulled the single sheet up to her shoulder and watched her whip over violently, curling in like a millipede. 

He examined his upper back in the room’s small mirror, peeling away what dried kelp he could reach, and wrangled on a shirt with small, careful movements. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Uma’s voice was muffled behind him. 

“Deck,” Gil turned with a smile, clapping his hands and wincing at the pain that raced down his spine. Uma, rolled over to face him now, gave him a hard stare. 

“I saw that.” She pulled herself upright, rubbing her eyes with a palm. “Let me take a look.” 

“I just got my shirt on,” he groused, retracing his steps and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t be a baby.” She tugged at the edge of his collar. “Did Harry bandage this at all?” 

“Didn't see a point,” Gil glanced over his shoulder. “Just a scratch right? Hurts, though,” he admitted. 

“Sleeping is one thing,” she slid out from under the covers and sauntered across the room. “You want to walk around with it you'll want it wrapped, trust me.” 

“I trust you.” Gil raised his arms, shimmying back out of his shirt. 

“That makes one person on this ship.” Uma held an extra bedsheet in front of her, tearing a long strip off one edge with a pinched look. 

“...Harry talk to you?” he said carefully as she settled behind him and reached around the front of his arm with the torn cloth. 

“Might’ve tried. Long night for everyone.” She tied the first strip and smoothed a hand between his shoulders before starting on the second. “Harry doesn't understand, Gil. If I had Mom’s shell, we could have been in Neverland within the day. We certainly wouldn't have gotten caught up in this,” she motioned towards the door, the deck. “What does _a hook_ get us?” 

“He’d be easier to talk to.” Gil pointed out. “I guess it makes him happier.” 

Her hands continued their steady movements “I know that. It’s just...something he can lose so easily. And suddenly he’s not happy anymore. How does that make sense?” 

Gil thought about Uma and all of the reasons she seemed unhappy, all of the time. Mal called me this, Mal took that, _I want, I want, I want…_  

“It doesn’t make sense, really.” He half-turned towards her. “But you get it, right?” 

“Of course I do.” She tied the last makeshift bandage and Gil winced at the quick action. “Now don’t lay down for awhile.” 

He decided not to press her further, reaching beside him for his shirt. “Yes, Captain. Sorry we took your bed.” 

“I think you earned it this time.” She leaned forward to give him one of those rare smiles not cut with anything but fondness. He smiled back, tentative but firm, and her eyebrow arched up, changing her whole expression to one of suspicion. “Head to toe, though? Are you twelve? Here I thought you were making some progress.” 

Gil pulled his shirt over his head to hide his blush. Uma cursed behind him and two smaller hands helped the fabric midway down his back. “It’s not...we didn't do anything.” 

“ _That's_ obvious. I’m only wondering why.” 

He shook out the mess his hair had become, tugging a few errant curls away from him face. “Just didn't feel right." 

“Oh?” Uma teased, pressing against his back just enough to be suggestive. “What did it _feel like_? You know, one of the benefits of having a friend who wants to kiss you is that you get to _do that_ , right?” 

Gil extracted himself from the hands at his shoulder, standing to turn and face her. “I just don’t want things to change, all right?” 

“All right, calm down,” she raised her hands to tug at the bandages. “You’ll ruin my hard work.” 

“Sorry,” Gil shifted guiltily. 

She gave his shoulder a soft punch. “Things don’t have to change. Just do what you normally do; don’t overthink it.” 

The sentiment was similar to everything Harry had said to him. Maybe it was how he and Uma functioned. It was reassuring to hear them on the same page, even unawares. 

“I should go up, let everyone know I’m alive.” Gil thumbed towards the door, feeling a little lighter. “I can help us get docked, even if I can't lift anything--” 

”Hey, Gil,” Uma’s eyes caught his, curiosity and concern writ large there. “We’re stuck.” 

Gil took a chance and wrapped her into a hug. “No, no, we're fine. And you and Harry are always fine! You’ll see.” 

He drew away, cataloging the familiar smirk that hid a smile, the roll of her eyes. “I'm going back to sleep. Don’t get hurt again.” 

“Yes, Cap’n.”

* * *

The first thing he noticed on the deck was how the water sloshed up around his heels, threatening to splash his thighs if he took too great a step. The second was more frightening. There was not a bit of breeze on the air. The sails were still drawn in. 

They weren't moving. 

_Hey, Gil. We're stuck._  

Oh, he thought dumbly. She meant…literally. He forced his body to walk over to where Harry was fanning himself. 

“Captain think it's all right to walk about with that wound?” Harry shoved his hat back on his head, eyebrows knit together in concern. _Captain_ , Gil noted. Whatever had been said last night, a little residual hurt clearly still remained. 

“Oh, I’m okay,” Gil tugged the rigging and watched the sheets flap uselessly. “We’re not moving.” 

“You catch on quick." CJ landed between them looking murderous. 

Harry gave her back a light shove. “I tried to tell you last night. Uma didn't say anything?” 

“She may have mentioned,” Gil hedged. 

“CJ and Cap'n kept us afloat but it knocked us right into the doldrums.” Harry passed a hand over CJ’s hair. “You did a good job.” 

CJ’s expression softened into a pout, and Gil continued on. “Bet Harriet's never sailed through a storm like that.” 

Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. “Whatever. I’m going to check the water supply.” 

“What was that?” Harry narrowed his eyes at his sister’s retreating back. 

“What was what?” Gil looked between the two. Harry examined his face and said nothing more. “Where's your hook?” 

A flash of something almost unrecognizable passed across Harry’s face. “Lost it while we were arguing, didn't I?” Gil belatedly recognized the emotion he had seen as _guilt_. 

“I'll help you look for it later,” he said, smile as reassuring as he could manage. 

Harry looked vaguely comforted, lips twitching and brow relaxed. “Did you need more Devil’s Claw?” 

Gil took physical stock of himself; still beaten, tired, and a little dazed. He took a deeper breath than the shallow ones he'd accidentally fallen into and clenched his jaw to stop the wince. “Better to ride it out, right?” 

“Not if it hurts,” Harry scolded, tongue pressing against his top lip, chapped as it was and probably sore to boot. Gil thought about how long Uma or Harry had looked at one another's lips before they decided to kiss away the salt there. “We need all the able people we have. No telling when this’ll pass.” 

Gil looked up at the sails again and prayed for wind.

* * *

A pirate’s life had seemed good in theory, Gil thought to himself a week later and on the verge of heatstroke again, but he may not have been bred for the sea. 

CJ leaned against the crow's nest beside him, as still as she could stand to stay in the small bit of shade the mast provided. 

“I miss them fighting,” she said. Gil followed her line of sight to where Uma stood near Harry’s hammock, close enough to give orders through others if needed, just far enough not to cross paths. “They’re bringing me down.” 

In fairness, most of the people on the ship weren't speaking. No sleep and rationed water would do that to a crew. But Uma and Harry could hardly keep eye contact, both waiting for the right moment to apologize or maybe wishing the other would make the first move. 

CJ was no exception to the dour mood. Gil rotated his right arm, hearing a small click and a dull ache that followed. There was none of the familiar searing pain, and he hadn't needed any pain relievers for a number of hours. He figured it had to be a good sign. 

“Want to help me catch dinner?” he offered, placing his hands on his knees and stretching out the rest of his body. He felt a little dehydrated, and a lot useless. He could only solve one of those problems. 

“Leave the ship?” CJ seemed intrigued by the prospect. “Get food that isn't pre-packaged Isle garbage? Sign me up.” 

The dinghy they had for such purposes lay, turned over and unused. Gil enlisted a few others to flip it. 

“What are you two doing?” Harry joined CJ’s side, Uma a fair distance behind him but obviously listening. They finished turning over the boat with a loud thud and all took a moment to pause and remember how exhausted they were. 

“Getting you good-for-nothings dinner,” CJ pushed the tarp away from the top and climbed in, looking haughty and commanding even in a vessel smaller than Uma’s bed. “Do you mind?” 

“Need to ask the captain's permission before you do things like that,” Harry said, sounding worn down and angry. 

“ _You_ ask her,” CJ challenged. Harry froze, caught-out. “I thought so. Why should any of us have to talk to her if her first mate can’t even be bothered? Come on, Gil.” 

“Gil,” Harry’s tone was a clear warning. Gil looked past him to where Uma stood, watching them carefully. She didn't look upset, Gil took that as a good sign. 

“We’re all tired, and _I'm_ hungry,” Gil turned his attention back to Harry as he climbed into the boat after CJ. 

Harry’s lips made some movement seemingly out of his control, teeth clenched and cringing for just a moment. “You were abed and bandaged not a week ago!” he shouted in that way that meant he was more worried than mad. “What are you going to catch, a guppy?” 

“I was hoping to bring back a crocodile.” Gil joked as they were lowered to the water's surface.

“Should have backed my play. Told em to talk,” CJ said when they had pulled far enough out to see the beady eyes of small sharks circling their boat. "Thought you liked playing mediator." 

“I tried that a few times, but after a while you have to let them take their time.” 

“Tactical retreat, huh? When you learn that?” 

“Oh, when I was a kid I guess,” Gil scratched his neck, thinking of learning to tie knots and build traps for hours just as a way to pass the time when his house felt particularly uninviting. “Uma and Harry are ten times more functional than my parents.” 

“Mine too,” CJ pulled in the oars. “Low bar, though. I don't remember her.” 

It made sense, he reasoned. She had been a baby when Tinker Bell had won enough good grace to barter her way off the Isle. “Do you want to?” 

“Not really,” she shrugged. “She’d be just as rotten on the Isle as she would be off it. Maybe more cause I'd have to see her every day. I want to meet her, though. Tell her what I think of her, really.” 

“What's that?” 

“She’s not better than us,” CJ’s clenched jaw anger reminded Gil of Uma. “She didn't deserve to leave, not anymore than we deserved to be left there. Anyway,” she turned to wipe at her eyes. “Why didn’t you try to leave?” 

“Someone needed to be here to jump in front of crates.” Gil said, feeling more useful than he probably was. “Take the big hits.” 

She made a face at him like she’d caught a whiff of something rotten. “What has my brother ever done for you?” 

“I...Harry and Uma, I like being around them,” Gil raked his fingers through his hair, thinking he might not be very good at relationships. He didn’t have good role models and, as this conversation was proving, he wasn’t going to be someone to come to for advice either. “They were _happy_ I came back and they don't want me to leave. So I won't.” 

“Dumb.” CJ leaned over the edge of the boat, eye caught at the shiny back of a passing fish. 

“Think there’s a croc down there?” Gil asked, only half-teasing. Harry would have pressed himself further against the side, despite his better judgment. CJ only stared at him flatly. 

“Let’s just catch a few of these.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

They made it back to the ship with a shark the size of the boat. It wasn't a crocodile, but CJ looked proud hauling it over the edge and tossing it onto the deck. Gil was halfway through slicing down its back when Harry cornered him. 

“It doesn't look good, following CJ’s orders.” Harry tilted his head back towards where the girl in question was dragging up a bucket of freshwater. “She's not your captain.” 

CJ had called him _the mediator_. He would never have thought of himself that way before this voyage. 

_“I_ told her to come with me, Harry. Leaving the ship was my plan.” 

Harry turned and stared at CJ for a long moment. When he spoke, his tone was acidic in a way rarely directed at Gil. “You two have been awfully chummy.” 

Gil was too shocked to react at first. When he finally managed to, it came out louder than he intended, and a bit angry. “CJ was right. When you and Uma don’t talk, things go wrong.” He wiggled an arm, sore from the days activities; more sore than it ought to have been. 

Harry's look bordered on sheepish. “...said you weren't mad about that.” 

“I _wasn't_ ,” Gil turned back to the shark, knife poised, and sawing with every word. “I'm not. I'm hungry, and tired, and my best friends aren't talking and…,” He stopped on a sigh. “This isn't what I pictured for our grand adventure.” 

Harry cast a shadow across the table, laying a hand over Gil’s wrist. “I always figured any hurricanes we came across would be Uma’s doing. Reckon she did too.” 

Gil conceded the point with a nod as Harry drew away to lean against the table, facing the rest of the crew. Gil cut off two large chunks from the shark, slapping the bloodied pieces directly into Harry's open palms. “Take one of those to her.” 

Harry looked at him, lips turned down and blood dripping between his fingers. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and turned towards the stairs of the deck instead. Gil let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. 

“Maybe he’ll listen to you,” CJ said from beside him a few seconds later. Gil paused in his cutting for only a second before serving her a helping. “Want me to slap some sense into him?” 

“That’s Uma’s job,” Gil wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. 

CJ took a dangerous looking bite from the piece of shark in her hand and grinned. “Oh, I hope we can hear it from up here.”

* * *

Finished with his own meal and leaving the rest to be secured with the crew, Gil wandered downstairs and, inevitably, in the direction of Uma's cabin. Surely they were done talking by now.  
  
Except they hadn't _been_ talking.  
  
This wasn't the first time Gil had walked in on the two in some form of undress (together or separately); it was a matter of space on a ship. It was the first time he'd seen them so...so…  
  
Well, it was the first time he'd seen so _much_ of them.  
  
There was an awkward moment where Harry laughed as though Gil standing at the door, trying not to look shocked, was the funniest sight in the world to him. And Uma hit him  because it _really wasn't funny_. Then there came a minute of averted eyes and rearranged limbs until the door was closed and Harry and Uma were under the sheets approaching something close to decency.  
  
“Well," Gil said, overly loud and mostly to the ceiling. "I'm glad you two are talking.”  
  
“We haven't actually,” Uma cast a rueful look at her lap, mouth quirking into a grin. “I started shouting--"  
  
“And this was my clever solution." Harry did look proud. It was somewhat ruined by the loud gurgle from his stomach.  
  
Gil bent at the waist near the end of the bed, and found the pieces of shark meat mostly unscathed. He brushed off the dust that had settled on the bottom and passed them over. “I'm going to,” he thumbed over his shoulder. He got as far as the door before Uma coughed.  
  
“Gil there's a shirt on the desk I need fixed.” She waved at the object imperiously and Gil heard it for what it was; tacit permission to stay. He opted to sit behind the desk rather than making his way back towards the bed, dragging the tattered fabric towards himself as a sort of extra buffer. He wasn't sure of the rules for this but he was secretly terrified they'd stop talking again and was positive that the less he said the better.  
  
Uma didn't speak until she had finished eating, wiping her mouth with the edge of the bed sheet. Gil spent the majority of that time searching for his small sewing kit in the drawers of her desk. "If you didn't want to go through with the race you should have said something."  
  
"I'm loyal," Harry said around the last of his own meal.  
  
"Demanding obedience," Uma threw herself back into the corner of the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Gil set his sights on the small holes in front of him, carefully placing pieces of black fabric underneath as many of them as he could. "How does that make me any better than him?"  
  
"...who?" Harry shifted, presumably to stare at her, but Gil was halfway through a stitch and didn't dare shift his focus. " _Pan_?"  
  
"Don't smile like that, you heard the way he talked about...," Uma's voice went quiet, tender in a way Gil rarely heard without a sea pony present. "How he talked about your mom. Loyalty... _blind_ loyalty. Leaving your family for someone like that? Tell me you wouldn't. And if you would, I'm telling you I don't want it."  
  
As quiet as he was, Gil was the only one in the room making any noise.  
  
"That's not even a question, Uma," Harry finally said. "All my family is here."  
  
"You know what I mean dammit!" Gil's head snapped up as she slammed a fist against the wall. "I don't want to be like him."  
  
Harry stared at her, flat, assessing. "Do you think I'm like my mom?"  
  
" _No_."  
  
"Then stop worrying about it. You're you, he's him," he sniffed, pulling his knees up. “Sorry I said this was your fault. Would a loyal first mate say that, eh?”  
  
“You're still insubordinate enough, I guess," Uma sounded cheered. "Sorry about...you know...everything else. And not being good at apologies.”  
  
"It's perfect, you're very cute when you blush.”  
  
"Shut up," she shoved at Harry, sending him toppling off the bed and taking half of the sheets with him. Gil raised himself by the elbows to stare at the heap in front of the desk. "And you," Uma raised her eyes to his. "Aren't you done yet?"  
  
Gil whipped the shirt into the air with a flourish. He had finished a while ago but he was good at seeming busy. Uma stepped off of the bed, one foot lightly touching the floor before the other, and stretched on her way over to him. She left her arms out in a relaxed, imperious cross and Gil found himself draping the fabric over her shoulders before she had to ask.

"Very nice," she tugged the shirt in tightly testing the pull against her shoulders.

"I'm going to make sure CJ hasn't turned my crew against me."

Gil opened his mouth to reassure her, issuing only a small noise before the feel of a light grip around his left ankle drew his attention to the floor. Harry was still curled in the sheets there, eyes closed, one cracking open slightly to stare at Gil implacably. Gil fell silent.

"What was that?" Uma twisted her hat, familiar in its distress and distraction, firmly on her head and looked up from under it.

"I'll polish your boots while you're gone," he stuttered out, unsure of what to finish with now. 

She looked between Harry and Gil, perplexed. "All right, whatever you want, weirdo." And then she left. 

Gil sat on the floor, letting the sheets soften the last of his slow descent. Harry adjusted himself until Gil was resting against his knee. It didn't seem comfortable, but Harry made it look effortless. They'd spent a lot of their life getting splinters on unpolished ship wood and scraping their knees on rocky shoals that were more glass than shells. He supposed that helped.  
  
Harry had sent Uma off happily, but their chat had clearly drained him, and Gil felt a little bad about his own chiding earlier, no matter how deserved.  
  
"Harry," Gil reached out to shake his wrist.  
  
"What?" Harry hissed, obviously defensive. He opened his eyes again, focused on his hands, which were fiddling with a corner of the sheets.  
  
"Can I see the map again?"  
  
"Want to remind yourself why we're out here?" Harry reached across the floor, hand searching under the desk for something. He pulled out his hat and settled back down with a sharp exhale. “It's in the right-hand drawer, second down.”  
  
“I meant yours."  
  
Harry rested his hands across his chest, staring at him now, and unnaturally still. After a long moment his expression relaxed and he set his palms on the floor, shifting sideways to lay on his stomach. There it was, as since they were young, black ink stretched between his shoulder blade and halfway down his back. Gil pressed a finger against the familiar shape of an island, unable to completely ignore the way Harry's skin changed color when he pulled away.  
  
"Dragon Point?" Gil said, and Harry made an affirmative noise into his elbow. Gil opened his mouth and let it close with a soft clack. He wanted to ask if he know how they'd get out of this. What Harry wanted to do when they got to Neverland. If he still wanted to kiss him.  
  
Gil pulled his hand back and, when he looked up, Harry was turning onto his back. Gil recognized how easily he could answer the latter question on his own. He saw himself, position reminiscent of the fairy tale books they used to draw mustaches on, with Harry resting against the piled up sheets and Gil leaning over him. Harry destroying that image with a snap of limbs, arms snaking out and hands cupping around Gil's jaw to draw him forward and hold him there, like he could draw the life out of him.  
  
Gil pictured Harry, hat tipped back, grin widening to show his teeth. _“Look at you,"_ he'd say. _“All grown up.”_  
  
At this moment, however, Harry was looking at him with wary concern as Gil's breath sped up.  
  
“Don't forget this time.” Gil's crawl towards Harry wasn't as smooth as it had gone in his head, but Harry seemed to understand what was happening now, at least, predictably launching forward to meet him.  
  
Gil felt more than saw his bandanna knocked from his head as Harry's fingers wound into Gil's hair and flexed there, as hectic as the rest of him.  
  
"Harry!" Gonzo's voice, and an accompanying pounding, sounded from the door.  
  
"A minute," Harry tugged Gil's head hard to the left, lips slipping from cheek to chin to jaw before landing on a small, scarred spot at the top of Gil's trachea where Gaston Jr. had accidentally nicked him with an arrow once.  
  
"Need you on deck!" Gonzo coughed. "Captain says _now_."  
  
Harry growled, fingers gripping tighter in Gil's hair in his frustration. Gil hadn't moved since Harry had stopped kissing him in what he considered the traditional sense. He hadn't known what to do and he didn't really know what to do _now_. Harry pulled back with another small growl and, as though nothing had been happening at all, stood in one smooth motion, dusting himself off and readjusting his hat. Gil watched him pull on his long-coat, resisting the temptation to run a finger across his chapped lips or, at the very least, pull them into his mouth to wet them.  
  
Harry shoved at him with a foot and a muttered, _Come on, then_. Gil used the push as leverage, reaching for his bandanna as he stood. "Leave it." Harry snapped, and Gil obeyed with a raised brow. "Your hair looks good down."  
  
Harry opened the door, barely pausing to let Gonzo jump aside. Gil passed him with an apologetic smile, running his hands through his hair, shaking it out and feeling more self-conscious than he had any right.  
  
Of course he had amazing, beautiful hair. He just never thought _Harry_ had thought as much.  
  
Harry was already halfway across the deck when Gil made it up the stairs, long strides eating the wood towards CJ, who was motioning him to her side.  
  
"There's something out there," she told Gil, when he caught up, short of breath and dizzy, dehydration rearing its head once again. Harry lowered the spyglass she had handed him, confusion writ clear across his face. Behind them, Uma dropped down from the last few rungs of the crow's nest.  
  
“It’s a magic carpet," she said, passing her own spyglass to Gil and leaning over the wood to stare at the glassy surface of the ocean, slowly beginning to churn against the bow.  
  
Gil felt his heartbeat pick up at the sight, squinting at the distant object heading towards them. Harry raised the glass to his eye and Gil followed suit, just able to make out the shape of a person on the back of what was, indeed, a magic carpet. It was impossible for Gil to tell _who_ they were, but he could see they were raising something in the air, between their palms.  
  
"What are they--?”  
  
The rest of Gil's question was cut off by the sound of a swift gust of wind and billowing sails above them. Gil looked up, unsure if he was hallucinating until the cheering started around the deck; weak but earnest.  
  
To his left, Harry looked shocked then pleased. “It’s Harriet.”

* * *

Docked at Skull Island after a solid week and a half of being becalmed, it was the closest to peace Gil had felt. This, he thought, is what he imagined life at sea to be. Harry doing his nails at the head of the bed, tongue peeking out, Uma working on her braids at the foot. Gil wedged in the middle, back against the wall, polishing their boots one after the next. No one was speaking except to pass one another something or move a stray limb out of the way.

They hadn't kissed since, or spoken about kissing, but Gil knew that, once Harry's nails dried, his fingers were going to find a way into Gil's hair to undo any attempt at managing it Uma had done that morning. He was perfectly capable of brushing his own hair, but with Harriet on the ship Uma seemed to like the mornings in her cabin, speaking to Gil and taking out her frustrations on his poor hair while Harry and his sisters ate breakfast.

Gil reached for his cloth, casting a glance at Harry who was blowing on his nails with a bored expression. Gil recalled the past week and wondered how his friend wasn't clamoring to leave yet.

They had easily charted the course to Skull Island the night of Harriet's arrival, with Harriet setting the lamp (and the object of their salvation) on the corner of the desk to hold the maps she had brought with her in place. Jordan was happy to help, she’d claimed, once Ben had asked it of them, but she hated the smell of the place and was happier in her lamp. Gil wondered how the small space could accommodate such a tall girl but felt stupid asking...so he hadn’t.

"And, after that, Neverland," Uma had pointed out, still sounding tired despite their good fortune. 

“We’re already on Neverland.” Harry looked at them askance. CJ shrugged as though this were a given. 

"How can you tell?" 

"I just...can." 

“Like I just _can_ talk to fish.” Uma ribbed him. 

“The ground feels...obviously Neverland.” CJ blinked, as though driven from a stupor. She looked to Harry. “Doesn’t it?” 

Uma shook her head. “Must be a little pixie in you after all.” 

CJ's lips pursed. “Gross.” 

Harry made a noise that sounded a mix between and hiss and a snort. “What kind of a useless magical power would that be?” 

Uma had slapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, grin broad and genuine. “Very useful for us.”

Caught up in his recollection, Gil had slowed in his polishing, staring in Harry's direction with a distance that must have registered to Harry as odd. Harry gazed at him over his hand, lips still slightly open from breathing against his nails, lips curving up into a wicked grin.

Gil attempted his own smile, tight and uncomfortable in his embarrassment, and went back to polishing. Halfway through his own pair of boots, he felt the first light touch of an index finger slide into the hair above his ear, followed more surely by three more digits.

Absently Gil wondered if Harry had even let his nails dry this time.

* * *

"I’ll be going back to Auradon before we reach the island, proper."

Harriet had called them together for dinner; her siblings, Gil, and Uma. Their first together and, apparently, their last.

"My job was to get you out of trouble and return this," she held out a closed fist in the center of the table. She let the moment sit between them before opening her fingers and, from them, dangled Uma's shell. Uma's face lit, bouncing leg still where it touched Gil's.

"It’s a fake," Harriet said, blasé, uncaring. "But Ben says you're the one who tipped him off to that. For everything after this, you’re on your own. Until King Ben decides to bail you out from the goodness of his heart again."

"The _goodness of his heart_?" Harry glowered across the table at her. "Can you hear yourself, Harriet? It's like I don't even know you!"

Harriet used the palms of her hands to lever herself out of her seat, shaking her head with a caustic smile. " _You know_ , I'm the one who made it off the island safely. I'm the one who goes to sleep on a nice bed, with a full belly, in a warm place every night. You know me, Harry. I'm the _smart_ one. Always have been."

When Uma rose from her own seat, it was like a wave--not the soft rolling ones at dawn; the tide after a storm. Harriet jumped, though Gil was sure she tried not to.

"I’ve always been nice to you, cause you’re Harry’s sister." Uma leaned across the table, mirroring Harriet's stance. "Cause I respected you, for some reason. Had a good crew, had a good ship. You lost that when you left. The necklace was a favor to your Good King, letting him know what kind of people he's been supporting. People like Pan. We didn't need him," she drew back, arms crossed, resolute. "And we sure won’t need you."

Harriet's jaw clenched, lips pursing before she managed a smile. "Easy to say now that you're safe."

The shell in her hand dropped to the table and, if they hadn't known it to be false before, they would know it now by the way it landed with a solid _thunk_. Still, Uma flinched, braced for the expected shattering. Harriet pushed herself away from the table and made her way out of the cabin, unhooking the lamp from her belt as she went.

"You don't care about this Harriet," Harry said, sounding more vulnerable than Gil had ever heard him. It was enough to stop her at the door. "You made that very clear when you left. But you came back," his eyes darted towards Gil, searching, then back to his older sister. "That...means something."

Harriet's hands fiddled with the intricate designs looping around the base of the lamp, expression pinched, and opened her mouth to respond. She managed Harry's name before CJ vaulted across the table with a growl, thin arms stretched up from under billowed sleeves to pull her sister down by the lapels of her coat.

"If you leave again," CJ said on the end of a sped breath like she’d been punched. "Harry and I...you're not our sister anymore! What does your good heart say about that?"

"Let me go, you urchin!" Harriet batted CJ's hands away, lamp falling to the floor in the process.

"I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you_!"

"Calista!" Harry stepped around the table, grabbing her her around the shoulders and pulling her back. Gil felt a tap against his foot as the lamp rolled to a stop between them. He bent to pick it up and--

\--the inside of the lamp was swathed in light and dark blue fabrics. In the middle of it all Jordan sat on a pile of pillows looking irritated.

"Get. Out." Jordan pushed her hands forward and--

Gil fell against the table with a shocked noise. The room around him was quiet, four pairs of eyes trained on him.

"Gil," Uma spoke first.

"What did you wish for?"

_Oh that's right,_ he thought, _I get a wish._

Between the palms of his hands the lamp warmed. 

_That's it?_ Jordan's voice reverberated in his skull. _A hook?_

Gil considered this. _Do you have the real shell?_

_Rule Seven: No magical objects which would be otherwise housed in the Museum of Cultural History unless granted permission by HRM King Ben. So. No._

_Then...that's it._

_All right, one hook coming right--_

_Oh!_

A groan. _What?_

_Can you...defeat our enemies?_

_If you mean Peter Pan, I think not. If you mean the King, absolutely not._ She made a humming noise. _And ethically? No on both counts._

Gil could only surmise what _ethically_ meant, but he got the general idea. _I thought so. Just the hook, please._

When Gil opened his eyes, the others were one step closer, and staring at Gil with a worrying amount of apprehension. When nothing seemed to happen, Harriet straightened her coat and took a great step forward, snatching the lamp from his hands.

“If you are through accosting me,” Harriet looked past CJ, voice breaking at the end of her sentence as she turned towards the door. “You all have had plenty of choices and you keep making the _dumb ones_. I’ve said all I came to say.” 

None of them said goodbye before the door shut on Harriet’s back, and Harry only released CJ when the sound of it had stopped reverberating off the walls. She turned on her brother with a scowl. 

"I'm going to Neverland, I'm going to raise an army, and I'm going to take this ship and my army and I'm going to...I'm going to...." 

She pressed her lips together, chin falling to her chest. When she looked up again, her face was empty and dangerous and no one approached her as she followed Harriet’s path out of the room. 

Gil looked around himself, unsurprised when Uma caught the action and followed his gaze. His eyes landed on the bed, where a chunk of familiar metal lay on the pillow. Her eyebrows climbed.

“Your wish?” she said, walking with him to the bed.

“I tried to get the shell,” he picked up the hook, turning it between his palms. It didn’t look new, and Gil wondered if Jordan had wished it from an island of Lost Boys or the belly of a crocodile.

“It’s all right, Gil.” She placed a hand on his wrist, staring between the curved piece of metal and the expression on Harry’s face, staring at the door through which both of his sisters had made their loud and sudden departures. “We don’t need the shell. We never did.”

“But it was important to you.”

“Not for the right reasons. Not like that,” she motioned to the hook with a tip of her head, expression twisting into something fond. “I hate to say it now but...I kind of missed it.”

“Missed what?” Harry said, standing between their shoulders, urging them apart with a small push that had no force behind it.

Gil held the hook over his shoulder, extending his arm until metal met the flesh of Harry’s open palm.

“I couldn’t wish to win, so I wished for a weapon,” Gil said. “I think Dad would be proud.”

While they were becalmed, Harry had been as malnourished and dehydrated as the rest of them, awaiting each ration with the hungry eyes of an empty belly and a dry throat. He now stared at the hook with eyes more ravenous than Gil had ever seen.

“Gil,” he smiled wide, open and slow, like a cracked egg across his face. “ _Thank you_.”

Gil startled, unsure of the last time Harry had sounded so sincerely grateful, if he _ever_ had. “You’re welcome.”

Uma snaked a hand over both of their shoulders and pulled them down so they were hunched over, cheek-to-cheek. “Come on boys,” she laughed. “Let’s go fishing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Have a tumblr? I've made a small sideblog [here](http://seathree.tumblr.com). My main is [here](http://feoplepeel.tumblr.com).


End file.
